


definitions

by dancedanceresolution



Category: Atypical (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, also izzie is hispanic in this fic and the actor isnt oops, i changed the world a bit so clayton prep is a catholic school, the catholic school part of this is based on a true story unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancedanceresolution/pseuds/dancedanceresolution
Summary: Casey and Izzie attempt to navigate their relationship but meet some hurdles along the way. (please note: i altered the world a little so clayton prep is a catholic school)





	definitions

**Author's Note:**

> tw: homophobia (no violence though)

Casey heard Anna’s locker slam closed. The familiar sound of the metal door banging shut, the haphazard rattling of the lock. A backpack slung over one shoulder, footsteps leaving the room. That’s how the locker room works. That’s how it is every day. And Casey and Izzie are always the last ones to leave, their laughter the last sound the locker room hears before it’s closed for the night.

The laughs were heavy now. They carried weight with them, a sense of searching.

“Hey Iz,” Casey started, “about Saturday…”

“About Saturday,” Izzie repeated. The locker room was quiet, and a nervous feeling swam around the base of Izzie’s stomach. Unconsciously, she bit her bottom lip ever so slightly.

The silence was palpable, thickening the air between them.

“I—I think I like you.” Casey blurted it out so quickly that it took Izzie a second to realize what she had said. “But, I don’t know what that means,” she then said much more slowly.

“I think I like you too,” Izzie said quietly. She was smiling ever so slightly and staring at the ground out of embarrassment. Casey, being the taller of the two, tilted her head down a tiny bit so she could see Izzie’s face. The angle made her eyelashes look elongated, a bold contrast from her delicate face. And those lips…

“I don’t know what I feel. I love being your friend, and you’re, like, my favorite person, but—” Casey paused. What was she doing? She was a sarcastic and light person, and this was, well, not.

Casey hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath. She let it out quickly. “But I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no idea what any of this means—”

“Maybe it means you should kiss me,” Izzie interrupted. “You’re cute when you’re opening up. I don’t think I’ve seen you voluntarily vulnerable before.” Her lips curved into a slight smile.

Butterflies swarmed in Casey’s stomach. “You see, I don’t know how to respond to that. I—I think I want to kiss you, but I can’t because I don’t know what it means or what I’m doing or what I’m getting myself into.” She stared at the ground.

“Since when did you think things through so much?” Izzie responded flirtatiously.

“Since that time we almost kissed. Since that time you started a forehead promise and we laughed but then got serious and you looked at my lips and bit yours slightly and I felt—I felt sort of whole.

“But also Evan. I love him,” she said quietly before quickly adding, “I think.”

“Wow, Newton.” Casey couldn’t tell which of her statements was receiving the “wow.”

“Uh, I need to leave this locker room before I have a panic attack,” Casey said jokingly. She yanked out her ponytail. The locker door slammed, the lock jiggled in. Her backpack was slung over her shoulders, and Casey walked out of the locker room with steps somehow both lighter and heavier than usual.

Izzie stayed where she was, taking in every detail about the sweaty locker room, imprinting the moment in her brain. And then she left.

 

\---

 

Regina was perched in a dark corner of the locker room. She sat sandwiched between a rack of neglected field hockey equipment and a vacant locker.

Coach had been a beast, and when she entered the locker room, she was a ball of sweat that was sucking wind. Before changing, she curled up in the corner, Childish Gambino pumping through her earbuds, and took a moment to catch her breath.

After a few songs she plucked the Air Pods out of her ears, expecting the locker room to be empty.

But then she heard Izzie’s voice. “About Saturday.”

And then, “I—I think I like you.” Regina could hear in Casey’s voice that this was not a just-a-friendship type of “like.”

She stopped moving and slid back down to her hiding spot, wanting to listen in.

 

\---

 

Regina didn’t think she was _homophobic._ That was such a weird word. She didn’t even think that being gay was a sin; that’s how progressive she was.

She just knew what her mom had told her: “Gay” isn’t a real thing, so boys should stop trying to marry boys and girls should stop fooling themselves by trying to marry girls. And people who think they’re gay just need to be talked to and helped; usually, “lesbians” just had a bad experience with a man or misunderstood a friendship. And high school girls especially were wrong; they’re too young to know anything about love.

Regina thought through her situation. She believed her mom, and the statement wasn’t hateful or anything. But it wasn’t like she was blind; Regina didn’t live under a rock. She watched Dodie Clark on YouTube, and Dodie got drunk on camera, talked about sex, and was bisexual.

Regina was homeschooled by her Catholic mother until she came to Clayton Prep, where she had a whole school of Catholic mothers to teach her theology and how to live according to God.

Granted, Clayton had been nothing like she expected. Plenty of the people here were atheists and cussed; Regina even knew of a sophomore who had lost her virginity.

And Regina was friends with plenty of those cussing atheists (but not the sex girl). Because only God can judge. 

Despite that, it was only freshman year. Regina just hadn’t gotten used to this school’s “normal” yet. And she thought she’d never get used to _lesbian_ being normal.

The next day, the school counselor stood her post in the hallway with an eagle-like gaze cast over the crowd of students. Regina approached her. “Mrs. Anderson, could we talk for a second?”

 

\---

 

Casey arrived at Biology a second before the bell rang. God, she hated Biology.

Mrs. Hayes began to write the day’s objective on the board when the phone rang. She walked to where it hung on the wall while Casey sat rather eagerly, hoping that phone call would somehow get her out of class.

“Of course. Just confirming, it’s the guidance counselor’s office?” She paused, smiling politely and nodding as if the person on the other end could see her. “I will send her down now. Thank you.”

She faced the class and proclaimed, “Casey? You’re needed in the guidance counselor’s office.”

Maybe there was a god.

 

\---

 

“Excuse me, where is the guidance office?”

“Just two doors down, on the left.”

“Thank you.”

The woman nodded and continued walking in the opposite direction of the administration wing. This hallway was part the original school building, built a million years ago or something. Its navy-blue shag carpeting and wood paneling begged for a remodel; the walls donned pictures of all of the senior classes the hallway had ever seen.

A few footsteps later Casey arrived at guidance. The door was slightly ajar, so she nudged it a little bit. “Ms., uh—” _Crap_. Casey didn’t know who she was supposed to be meeting with, or even who the guidance counselor was.

“Anderson. And it’s Mrs., honey.” A red-haired woman in her forties or fifties got up from her desk and walked toward Casey, who still was standing outside of the doorway. She stuck out her hand.

“Mrs. Anderson,” Casey said confidently as she shook the woman’s hand.

Mrs. Anderson gestured Casey into the room, which was larger than it first appeared. Mrs. Anderson’s desk and expansive computer monitors sat in the back of the room; in front was an antique-looking conference table, and cramped around it sat wooden chairs upholstered with a navy, leather-like fabric. A crucifix hung at the top of the wall and a telephone system sat in the center of the table. The room was barren of the student-made art and stupid positivity posters that Newton High School plastered all over their administrative offices.

“Now, let me wait for Sister Janet Noel to arrive, and then we can begin.”

A nun? A few nerves began to float around Casey’s abdomen.

The nun entered the room with a warm smile on her face and a traditional white habit covering the rest of her. “Hello, Casey.”

“Hi,” she responded politely.

“Why don’t we start with a prayer?” Mrs. Anderson smiled.

The two women made the Sign of Cross; Casey just bowed her head slightly to show respect.

“Lord God, help us to navigate our conversation today so we can best help Casey follow Your plan for her. We thank You for Your great guidance and wisdom and ask that it, and Your love, be present in our hearts. We pray these words through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

“Amen,” Sister Janet Noel repeated reverently.

“Now, Casey,” Mrs. Anderson beamed, “you are not in trouble.” She chuckled. Her smile faded a little. “We just want to discuss something that was brought to our attention.

“A student approached us saying that she overheard you and another student discussing—well, saying words to the effect of ‘I am gay.’ Does such a conversation sound familiar to you?”

Casey paused a moment, absorbing what had just been said. _Someone tattled on me for being gay._

_And even though it’s 2018, even though we live in a blue state, I am having this conversation._

_What the actual fuck._

She took a breath and stated, “Well, a friend and I had been discussing culture. You know, the show Glee, politics, that kind of stuff.”

Mrs. Anderson paused waiting for Casey to expand. Casey just sat there, her expression shocked and defensive.

“Why do you think the student would have approached us then?”

“I’m don’t know. We were just talking about politics. Maybe she misunderstood.”

Mrs. Anderson quieted her voice. “Was—was the other girl—the girl you were talking with— _pressuring_ you?” She sounded out the syllables, _pres-sur-ing_ , chewing each one thoroughly.

_They think Izzie is a predatory gay._

_What the actual fuck._

“Dude, I’m just—I mean, ma’am, we were only talking about politics. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“No need to be aggressive or wary. Like I said, you’re not in trouble.” Mrs. Anderson said that sentence a little too kindly.

Sister Janet Noel and Mrs. Anderson gave each other a knowing look.

The rest of the conversation was a blur to Casey. Reality started to settle in. _I was outed to the administration of my Catholic school before I could even accept the idea of a sexuality myself._

Thoughts and worries started spiraling through her head. _Someone tattled on me for being gay, but I don’t even know if I’m gay. I hadn’t even started to think about labels; I can barely figure out how I feel about Izzie. Did the tattler tell others? Did they report Izzie too? Is she going to start acting weird around me?_

Casey forced herself back to reality as the nun finished her remarks, “…and my door is always open. So is the Lord’s, of course! And please, Casey, talk to your mothers about this. They can help you through this.”

“Mother _s_?” Casey asked weakly.

“Your birth mother and the Blessed Virgin Mary, of course!” Sister Janet Noel said a long prayer about finding platonic friendship with the Lord’s assistance. Casey felt like it was meant more for her to hear than any God.

 _Of course!_ The phrase repeated in Casey’s mind as she was given a hall pass and ushered out of the office.

_What the fuck just happened._

As she stepped into the dated hallway, she heard Mrs. Anderson’s voice again. “Casey?”

She turned around so she could see the counselor.

“We appreciate your discretion. Please don’t discuss this with anyone other than your Mothers, especially not your classmates.”

She nodded halfheartedly in response.

Casey glanced at her watch. Well, at least she had missed all of Bio.

_WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED._

_\---_

 

Izzie was doodling a heart in her notebook. Cliché, yes, but she thought that Casey was falling for her. And, well, she had fallen too. Like the equivalent of falling off the peak of Mount Everest.

She was discreet. She refrained from looking at Casey in that more-than-friends way, and being a relatively reserved person, it wasn’t like she was blabbing non-stop about how much she loved Casey or was trying to kiss her in the hallways or anything.

Izzie kept replaying the locker room conversation in her head. That was the boldest she’d been in a long time. And though she felt a bit embarrassed and shy as she thought back on it, she knew that if it happened all over again, she’d say the same exact thing: “ _Maybe it means you should kiss me_.”

Izzie finished shading the heart. She began to jot down the PowerPoint notes when the class phone rang. Moments later, she heard, “Isabel, you’re needed at the guidance office.”

She didn’t think much of it. Maybe she was needed to show a prospective family around the school or help orient a transfer student.

She arrived at the familiar office and let herself in. It was a rather large office, but Mrs. Anderson had no idea how to decorate; it was a very blank room, and the furniture was far too large for the space. “Hi Mrs. Anderson,” Izzie said in her perfect, professional voice. She started to walk towards Mrs. Anderson but had to stop herself. A nun—Sister Jane? Janie?—sat at the edge of the conference table, blocking Izzie so she couldn’t step more than a foot or two inside of the office.

“Hello, Isabel,” the Sister said in a kind voice.

Izzie returned the nun’s smile and nodded.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Isabel, and then we’ll start with a prayer. Sister Janet Noel, would you like to lead?”

Izzie left one seat between herself and the nun, sitting directly across from Mrs. Anderson. She sensed a bit of tension in the air but didn’t think much of it. Mrs. Anderson was just a tense woman, period.

The three women made the Sign of the Cross, folded their hands, and bowed their heads. Sister Janet Noel started to speak. “Lord Jesus Christ, only begotten Son of God, Gloria and Hosanna in the highest. We praise you, we bless you, we glorify you, we adore you, we give you thanks for your great glory.” She paused. “Help us navigate our meeting today. We ask for your wisdom and guidance to be with us now, especially with your daughter Isabel as she grows and requires your help. We pray this hymn through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

“Amen,” both Isabel and Mrs. Anderson repeated as they raised their heads. Isabel had been through this drill a hundred times, but this time seemed different. She started to mentally list the ways. Usually there was an admissions officer, not a Sister, at the head of the table. Usually they just regurgitated an Our Father or something like that; they never said something so personal. And why was the nun looking at her like she was a scared, lost child?

“Now, Isabel,” Mrs. Anderson began, a forced smile plastered on her face. “You’re not in trouble.”

That wasn’t usually said either. Why would Izzie be in trouble in the first place?

“We just want to discuss something that was brought to our attention yesterday.

“A student approached us saying that she overheard you and another student saying words to the effect of ‘I am gay.’ Does such a conversation sound familiar to you?”

All of the color drained from Izzie’s face. She had been wearing a pleasant look on her face; it all dropped, and she sat in shock.

 _Act professional._ “I, um…” Her mind raced with a thousand excuses, but she couldn’t get them to slow down enough to pick a good one. “I, uh, was having a conversation with a friend of mine about, uh, the Winter Formal.” She took a deep breath and sat up a little straight. “And she, uh, mentioned wanting to bring a girl to the dance. And I was trying to be friendly, find some things we had in common, so I casually mentioned that I personally was, um, questioning whether I wanted to bring a girl too.” She tried to appear as casual as possible, hoping that if she made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, they would think so too.

Her guise appeared to work; Mrs. Anderson and Sister Janet Noel gave each other a knowing look and nodded. _Thank God, they believe me._

“Well, we just want to use this opportunity to discuss why we have certain school policies, like not being allowed to bring a girl as your date to the dance.

“Sometimes girls will come to us and say, ‘Why does the dress code for Winter Formal say that I _must_ wear a dress? Could I wear slacks, for instance?’ and to that I say—”

“I mean, I’m wearing a dress to Winter Formal.” She became defensive, attitude seeping into her voice. “I’m fine with being a girl and I—”

“No need to talk back.” Mrs. Anderson started droning on about school policy and methodology; Izzie couldn’t listen. She stared at the base of the far corner of the room until her eyes lost focus and the whole office blurred around her. She felt her face flush deeply; tears were coming.

She felt the Sister’s hand on top of hers. “In this day and age,” she said lovingly, “you can have a million ‘friends’ on Facebook, but they’re not true friends. So, naturally, you long for a true friend. That feeling is confusing you; you think you are looking for a romantic relationship when really you just want a close friendship.”

Mrs. Anderson got up from her seat and grabbed a tissue box from her desk, handing it to Izzie. So Izzie let the tears pour out like Niagara.

Sister Janet Noel knew exactly what to say. She knew exactly what buttons to push to make Izzie doubt herself.

She’d been through this process before. She’d had the thought spirals, the doubts, where she’d been confused and scared and hated herself. She’d spent forever trying to work out how she felt about Anaya, that friend she made in eighth grade, until one day she told herself _Enough. I like Anaya in a more-than-just-friends way. And I’m going to stop obsessively worrying about it and just accept it._

She never mustered up the courage to tell Anaya. When they graduated middle school and realized that they wouldn’t be seeing each other in school anymore, Izzie dealt with it like a break up, blocking Anaya’s number, crying while watching Hallmark movies and eating chocolate ice cream. “It’s just PMS,” she told everyone.

So when she started to feel the same way about Casey, she pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote: _I will not let this crush ruin my life. I will not worry about her or about my sexuality. I will just let life happen._

Last night, she got worried that her mom would find it, so she threw it in the lit fireplace when no one was looking.

The Sister was continuing to talk despite Izzie’s loud, messy tears. “My mother had a best friend. They held hands, they loved each other, but they weren’t _gay_.” She said the word as if she was trying her best not to sound repulsed. “Society is so quick to label people, but you need to just let yourself live the life God gave you without the chain of a label, especially since you’re so young and have yet to live your life.” _If Casey were here, she would have whispered a joke about the nun’s mom actually being gay. She would have held my hand and it_ would _be ga—_ Izzie stopped herself. Would it be gay, or just platonic? Casey didn’t kiss her even after she explicitly told her to. And would Casey be scared of her now, scared to even be friends with her?

The tears of self-doubt and self-hatred flowed, the tears of worries flowed, the tears of defeat flowed.

“Do you mind my asking why you are crying?” Sister Janet Noel said in a soothing voice.

“It’s just hard,” Izzie responded, but thanks to the tears, her words sounded more like high pitched wails. “And I’m scared and…”

The nun nodded and began her sermon about finding refuge in the Lord. She concluded with an “Amen,” even though it wasn’t phrased like a prayer.

For a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the only sounds were Izzie’s tears and hiccups. Finally, Izzie was composed enough that she was given a hall pass and sent back to class as if nothing had happened.

“Oh, and Isabel,” Mrs. Anderson said seriously as Izzie exited the room, “we appreciate your discretion. Please don’t discuss this with anyone other than your Mothers, especially not your classmates.”

“Mother _s_?” Izzie asked weakly.

“Your birth mother and the Blessed Virgin Mary, of course!” the nun chimed in.

 _Of course!_ The phrase reverberated in Izzie’s head.

_\---_

 

Casey and Izzie avoided each other for the rest of the day. Izzie sat at a lunch table with virtual strangers just to avoid having to face Casey.

By the end of the day, Casey felt even more confused and defeated, and she knew that the only person who could help her feel better was Izzie. She walked to Izzie’s locker and stationed herself like a soldier awaiting Izzie’s arrival. They needed to talk.

Izzie was too worn out to talk, and she knew that she would start crying if she did talk with Casey. So when she turned the corner and saw Casey standing by her locker, she quickly rerouted so she could hide in the locker room. Screw that statistics textbook she needed.

But how would she manage to avoid Casey during practice? And would the coach notice that something was weird between them? Last time Coach thought Casey and Izzie had gotten in a fight, they were locked in an office together, and Izzie couldn’t last a minute with Casey alone without bawling all of the water out of her body.

She’d just have to skip practice today and pay the consequence later when she was more emotionally stable.

She decided that she would hide in the prop closet since the drama club didn’t have rehearsal that day. She briskly walked to the A side of the building, shed her backpack, and crouched in the corner of the closet. It was more spacious than it seemed; it was a large room, and the front portion didn’t have any clutter in it, leaving Izzie enough room to curl into a ball, rest her head on her knees, and cry.

 

\---

 

Casey waited at Izzie’s locker until practice had already started. She was about to frantically text Izzie for the fourth time when it finally dawned on her: Izzie would never respond, no matter how many texts. Izzie had seen Casey at her locker and just left. Izzie, the one person she needed the most, didn’t want to see Casey.

Frick, she was going to cry.

Casey remembered that the drama club didn’t have rehearsal, so she ran to their prop closet before anyone could see the tears escape from her eyes.

She slammed her backpack onto the floor of the hallway outside. The _thump_ sounded different than usual, as if it had fallen on top of something other than the hallway’s dated flooring, but Casey didn't care enough to look. She haphazardly threw the door open and stepped into the blackness.

She cried.

 

\---

 

Izzie froze the second she heard the door open. A sudden burst of light entered the practically pitch-black closet, but then it disappeared just as quickly as the person slammed the door closed. Only a small sliver of light continued to pervade the space, entering from the tiny space between the door and the floor.

Izzie held her breath, examining the figure who was standing in the center of the room. Her shoulders were hunched over slightly; her arms were bent upwards so her hands could cover her face. She was silent other than her fast, rhythmic breathing.

Izzie hiccupped, and the person heard. They both held their breath, listening more intently.

Slowly, the figure backed up towards the door of the closet. They opened it a small amount, and light began to flood the closet and—

“Newton?” Izzie whispered.

“Izzie?” Casey breathed. She hadn’t really been crying before; only a single tear had fallen. But now the tears flowed freely, without the dam of Casey’s waning strength. She closed the door, and her hand groped the wall until she found the light switch and flicked it on.

“Izzie,” she breathed again, this time more high-pitched. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what’s going to happen now.” She slowly walked towards Izzie and plopped down next to her. The girls sat next to each other with their backs against the wall, their arms touching ever so slightly. The single fluorescent light on the ceiling was dim from old age and gave off a buzzing noise.

“Turn the light off,” Izzie whispered calmly. “The buzzing makes me feel like I’m in a mental asylum.”

Casey heaved herself up, flicked off the light switch, and sat back down next to Izzie. She scooted a little closer so that their arms would be touching again.

Izzie scooted a little closer too.

The closet was once again black except for the tiny bit of warm light sneaking in through the bottom crack.

The girls stayed in the room, breathing deeply, crying softly, and thinking. Casey moved her hand a little to the left. She felt the warmth of Izzie’s hand and spread out her fingers, hoping Izzie would do the same. She did, and soon they sat with their fingers intertwined.

Izzie stared up at the ceiling, feeling the presence of Casey’s hand in hers. She was going to start crying again, dammit.

Casey heard a hiccup. A quiet whimper. She turned her head slightly so she could see the silhouette of Izzie.

Casey let go of Izzie’s hand, rose from the floor, and cracked the door so more light could come in. She could make out tears on Izzie’s face, so she walked towards Izzie and grabbed both of her hands. She pulled Izzie off the floor and hugged her deeply. They held each other, Izzie sobbing, and Casey soon joining in. Each girl felt safe in the other’s tight embrace.

 _I hope I never have to let go,_ thought Izzie.

 _I want to hold on forever,_ thought Casey.

But then the same thought flashed across both girls’ minds: _But that’s not how this works. Not after what happened today._ Without conciously realizing it, they started to hold on tighter.

A few minutes passed before Izzie interrupted the silence. “I have to go home,” she said. She started to compose herself as she pulled away from Casey.

“Okay,” Casey breathed defeatedly.

Izzie started to open the door when Casey’s voice stopped her. “You have glitter on your butt. From the floor,” she smiled, though the wet trace of tears remained on her face.

Izzie turned around and said jokingly, “Why are you looking at my butt?” She stepped toward Casey with a more serious expression, pulling down the long sleeve of her blazer so it covered her hand. She lifted it to Casey’s face and wiped away the remnants of the tears. Once she had finished, she began to lean in for a kiss. Casey did as well, but with their lips a second away from touching, she stopped, gently pushing away from Izzie. “I can’t yet. Not until I know where our relationship stands,” she whispered to the floor.

“Where _does_ our relationship stand?” Izzie responded quietly, staring at Casey’s eyelids.

“I don’t know,” Casey said. She began to cry again, so Izzie tried to hug her for comfort. But Casey pushed her away, more forcefully this time, and flung herself out of the closet and into the hallway. She threw her backpack on her shoulder and walked to the parking lot.

She opened her car door, stepped inside, and collapsed into the seat. She sniffed a few times, wiped the tears from her face much less gently than Izzie had, slammed the car door closed, and drove home.

Izzie remained in the theatre closet even after Casey had begun to drive home. She was so vulnerable, so scared and confused and longing; the last thing she wanted to do was face her family. But she knew she had to. Resignedly, she stepped out the room and placed her backpack on her shoulders. She could have taken the public transport bus home, but as punishment, she forced herself to jog home. The entire run home, she debating what exactly she was punishing herself for.

 

\---

 

Elsa was hit by the sudden wave of heat from the oven as she opened up its door and slid the pumpkin pie, Casey’s favorite, into it. She’d never get used to that feeling, no matter how much she baked.

She heard the front door slowly swing open and Casey’s steps, quieter than usual, walking towards the stairs.

“You’re not going to come in here for a snack?”

“Nope.”

“I’m making pumpkin pie,” Elsa sang.

“Don’t care,” Casey responded curtly as she marched up the stairs. So much for being quiet enough that Else wouldn’t hear her.

Elsa took off her over mitt and stepped into the hallway. “Casey?” she said gently. A second later, she heard Casey’s door slam.

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, and then she walked up the stairs.

 

\---

 

Earlier that day, Elsa had received a phone call. She was concerned when she saw that it was from Clayton and answered immediately. “This is Elsa Gardner,” she said loudly. She had yet to figure out where the car was listening to her when she talked on Bluetooth.

“Hello Mrs. Gardner, this is Mrs. Anderson from Clayton Preparatory School. I’m just calling to tell you about a little discussion we had with Casey today.” She sounded almost _too_ kind.

“Of course,” Elsa said, distracted by some idiot in a fricking _Ford Pinto_ who did not know how to merge.

“A student approached us saying that she had heard your daughter say words to the effect of, ‘I’m gay.’”

“Okay.” she said politely, too distracted by that damn Pinto to process what she had heard. “Did something happen?”

“Well, we called in Casey to discuss the matter. We talked about some traditions we have at the school, like girls wearing dresses to Winter Formal, for example, and Sister Janet Noel said some truly beautiful, inspiring, and holy things.”

“Uh, could you please hold on a second? I’m going to pull over here so I can listen to what you’re saying without being distracted by these idiot drivers.” She merged to the far-right lane, pulled onto the shoulder, and turned on her flashers. “Okay, go ahead.”

“We just wanted to make sure that you knew that Casey was struggling with these feelings so that you could help her through them.” Then, Mrs. Anderson’s sweeter-than-sugar tone faded. “We also would like to let you know that we are a Catholic institution, and we follow and enforce the beliefs and teachings of the Church. If Casey continues to talk about homosexuality or tries to spread it to other girls—”

_Spread it?_

“—then disciplinary action will be taken.

“Sister Janet Noel is always available for Casey to talk to about this. We just want what is best for her so she can fully develop as a Child of God made in His image.”

“O—Okay. I will make sure to talk to her about it,” Elsa said in a polite voice.

“Good!” Mrs. Anderson responded, her sickeningly sweet voice returning.

“Thank you for calling.”

“You are welcome! Have a nice afternoon!”

“You too,” Elsa said as she hung up. She took a deep breath, thinking back to the Clayton Prep Open House tour she had attended when Casey had first been offered the scholarship. “Our family is… not religious,” she had said. “Will that be a problem?”

“Of course not,” the tour guide commented in a sing-song-y voice. “We just ask that everyone walks through these halls with an open mind and open heart.”

_Mrs. Anderson, do you walk through these halls?_

And then she got back onto the freeway.

 

\---

 

“Casey,” Elsa said softly as she knocked on the locked bedroom door.

“Working on my Bio project.”

“Can you let me in?” Else responded gently.

Silence.

“Casey,” she said slightly more forcefully. “I got a call from the school, and I’m not mad, we just need to talk about it.”

“How fucking wonderful. Now I’ve been outed to the school administration, maybe the students too, _and_ my mom! _And I don’t even know if I’m_ —” but she stopped. The exasperation in her voice faded; she couldn’t get herself to say the words “I’m gay,” even if the context implied that she was only questioning.

Casey felt her face flush and a tear fall down her left cheek.

“Honey...” Elsa started. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She heard no response, so she slowly turned the handle and guided the door open.

Casey heard her mother’s gentle footsteps pad on the carpet.

Elsa calmly sat down on the bed. “I still don’t know entirely what happened, but I want you to know that I blame you for none of it. Whatever you did—well, within reason—and however you feel, I will support you.”

“ _I feel_ ,” Casey mocked, “like I want to get out of here. I can’t do this right now, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear how you were _once intimate with a woman_.”

Despite Elsa’s protests, Casey raced down the stairs, threw on a sweatshirt, and sprinted out the door.

Her feet rhythmically pounded on the pavement. The cold wind whipped her face, which was red from crying. Her lungs burned; she was a distance runner, not a sprinter. But she had to get to Izzie’s. She needed to see Izzie.

By the time she finally arrived, she was hunched over from exhaustion. A fit of bile threatened to leap to her throat. She stood outside the door, panting. She heard yelling from inside; the door was slightly ajar, so she nudged it open to investigate.

 _“¡Sabes lo que pasó en la escuela!_ _¡Eres una mentirosa y eres pecaminsosa!”_

Tears streamed down Izzie’s face, and her left cheek glowed pink from a slap. _“¿Recuerdas?_ _¡En dos mil trece, Papa Francisco dijo, ‘Quien soy yo para juzgar’! ¡Sobre católicos gay!”_

_“¡Eso no es lo que él quiso decir! ¡Detienes con las excusas, puta!”_

Izzie saw Casey out of the corner of her eye. She stood in the doorway, shocked. She didn’t know whether to run away or join the argument or just get Izzie out of that house by any means possible.

“Newton!” Izzie exclaimed, before realizing her mistake.

Izzie’s mother whipped around. _“_ _¿Eres la chica que infectó a mija? Juro—”_

Izzie bolted toward the door, and both girls sprinted out of the house. Izzie’s mother continued to yell curses but didn’t follow them.

After they were about one mile from Izzie’s house, Izzie slowed to a stop. “Newton,” she said, out of breath. And then she collapsed into Casey, who held on tightly. Their labored breaths eventually came into unison, and they calmed down enough to jog the rest of the way to Casey’s house.

They held hands the whole way.

 

\---

 

Casey and Izzie arrived at the house, and Casey let go of Izzie’s hand. They snuck in through the back door, but it led into the kitchen where Elsa sat, doing paperwork on the counter.

“I don’t see you,” she said. Elsa could see that the girls had been crying and decided that they could use some space.

They trotted up the stairs and into Casey’s room, where they sat at the edge of the bed, positioned about a foot apart.

Casey got up and grabbed a tissue box, placing it between them. The thick silence was filled only by the sound of tissues being pulled out of the box and the girls blowing their noses.

Finally, Casey broke the thick silence. “How’s your face?”

“Stinging.” Izzie’s face was still blotchy from tears, and the area where she had been slapped was even redder. Her eyes were swollen from crying so much.  

“What happened?”

“The school called home and outed me to my mom. She got mad. I called my grandmother, so she came over and took the kids to her place. I asked her to talk to my mom for me, but then she found out why Mom was mad and she told me that I…

“I stayed home, and my mom started yelling about it and we argued and—” She stopped speaking, swallowing the urge to cry. After a long pause, she shakily asked, “What happened to you?”

“They called my mom too, and she seemed to be fine with it. Except I don’t even know what ‘it’ is, because frankly, I don’t know anything. I don’t know who told the school and I don’t know who all knows. And I don’t know why they told and I don’t know how people are reacting to it. I don’t know how to feel about all of this myself. And I especially don’t know how to feel about you.

“I’m Sam’s sister and a runner, period. I don’t want to have to define myself any more than that.”

She paused before adding, “And I’m Evan’s girlfriend.” She said it so quietly that Izzie strained to hear her. “I just feel so lost. About everything.”

“Including me?” Izzie whispered. Casey’s confession, _And I especially don’t know how to feel about you,_ blared on repeat in her mind.

“I guess those were the wrong words. I do know how I feel, I just don’t know what it means.”

“How do you feel about me then?” Izzie said calmly.

Casey kissed her.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for reading this. Please note that Clayton Prep is a Catholic school in this fic. 
> 
> Regarding the part that’s in Spanish—Spanish is not my native language, so I may have made errors. If you do speak Spanish, please let me know in the comments what I need to fix. Thanks!  
> A quick disclaimer: I do not intend to offend anyone with my work. I am simply talking about an experience I know first hand. Being raised Catholic, I have great respect for many members of the Church; this is just my opinion on the Church's stance on homosexuality.  
> This is the first fanfiction I've ever published. I know I'm late on the Cazzie train, but if you are reading this, please let me know in the comments if there is anything I should note for the future - if my character/setting descriptions should be improved, if I managed to capture Casey and Izzie's character well, etc. Thank you so much for reading!!


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